


I Fell Into The Water, Now I’m Free

by luculias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Mermaids, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirates, Pirates of the Caribbean References, Sea Monsters, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, lots and lots of sea shanties, oberyn is a sexy swashbuckling pirate - with a really great hat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3223079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luculias/pseuds/luculias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed about pirates.</p>
<p> <i>"Vengeance has come, for Elia and her children." The Captain of the Red Viper yelled at the Heavens. Any man who was not her grandfather would have shrank away in fear. "Vengeance will not be swift. Look to your sins, Lord Tywin. I am coming for you."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Men Tell No Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ridiculous mess of a fic was brought on by me watching all of the Pirates of the Carribean movies on the plane, coming back to England from Australia. I really shouldn't be starting up another WIP, especially since I'm back at university soon, but oh well. This fic was always inspired by these two mixes - http://8tracks.com/frompillow/i-fell-into-the-water-now-i-m-free & http://8tracks.com/starrr/never-shall-we-die, as well as too many hours playing Assassin's Creed Black Flag.

 

 _The sea speaks_  
_And only the stormy hearts_  
_Know what it says_

\- **Carl Sandburg**

  

There was something lonely about the Governor’s Mansion, sat so high and alone above the port city of King’s Landing, far from the hustle and bustle of the busy docks. The well-kept gardens and gilded gates harkened back to another time – and to another place. Built in the image of the Storm’s End, which had long ago fallen into the depths of the sea, those who believed in such things might whisper that bad luck clung to the place, asking for more trouble than it was worth.

But Myrcella didn’t believe in such things.

Curses and superstition seemed so real when spoken of in whispered conversations in the dark, but in the light of day, she made herself believe that she had nothing to fear. They were only stories, after all.

She sat in the shade of a blood orange tree, staring out at the ocean. A light breeze carried off of the ocean, smelling of salt as it swept through the leaves of the lemon trees. The sea stretched out as far as the eye could see, the horizon marred only by the faint outlines of masts.

There was a storm coming. She’d heard one of the gardeners say he felt it in his bones.

“Myrcella! Myrcella!” She turned at the sound of her cousin’s voice, surprised.

It wasn’t often she saw her cousin, visits had become painfully rare since her father had been sent to garrison the island of Dragonstone, leaving Shireen behind to live in a convent with her mother. She rose to her feet, her long blue dress brushing against the ground as she was swept into her cousin’s embrace. She clutched Shireen close, glad to have her dearest friend back. She had missed her.

Shireen had always been a sweet, but sickly girl, whose company she’d always been fond of. In a drab grey dress, no doubt chosen for her by a hundred year old nun, Shireen looked paler than when they had last met. Someone had hidden her disfiguration behind a scarf, as if it was something she was meant to be ashamed of. Very carefully, Myrcella reached out and brushed the scarf away from her face.

She smiled. “That’s better.”

“They’re hanging someone.” Shireen breathed, her eyes alight with excitement. “A _pirate.”_

She cast a wary glance around them, afraid that someone might overhear. With no one in sight, she turned back to Shireen and grinned.

“When?”

“At noon. If we leave now, we’ll make it.”

“Do you know who it is?” She asked with a sick sort of curiosity wash over her. What if it was one of the Greyjoys? Or the Targaryen girl? Some say she sailed the seven seas, out for blood. Only Shireen knew her secret - that there was nothing she loved more than a good pirate story. Sometimes she dreamed about them, about living a life under the black flag, but it wasn't nothing more than a fantasy.

“No,” Shireen breathed. “But it must be someone important, if even the nuns were talking about it!”

She giggled at the thought before she reached for Shireen's hand and the two raced out of the gardens and through the house, shrieking with laughter. She clutched at her hat with one hand and lifted her skirts above her ankles with the other. The carriage was already pulling up to the front door, waiting to take her father to oversee the deliberations. 

“My father will be joining us later.” She called out to the driver, struggling to catch her breath as she and Shireen climbed aboard the carriage. “He requested that my cousin and I go on ahead, without him.” The two kept a hold of each other’s hands as the carriage jerked forwards and started down the gravel road, which gently sloped down towards the town below. There would be hell to pay later; her mother would have her followed wherever she went, whether it be by guards or chaperones, and there would be no end to her disappointment - but in that moment, it was the farthest thing from her thoughts. She was going to see a pirate, a real pirate – something she’d always dreamed of. Worrying about the extent of her mother’s fury could wait. 

The church bells were ringing when they at last made it to Fort Visenya, the main square bustling with activity. She and Shireen stood in the shade of the bell tower, still clutching each other’s hands. They did not have to wait long.

At the last peel of the church bells, the prisoner was brought out.

She felt a change in the air. The sky above them was darkening. The cool sea breeze was gone in a matter of moments, leaving the air humid and close. A hush fell over the crowd, as if they all sensed it too, and she heard only the clinking of the prisoner’s shackles as he made his way up to the gallows. She stretched up onto the tips of her toes, trying to get a better look. The dead man's walk, her uncle Tyrion called it. A man could think about a lot in the few moments between his cell and the end of a rope. She wondered what this man was thinking. Did he have a wife? Children, perhaps? Or was he thinking about his treasure, tucked safely away in a hidden cove?

The man climbed the steps to the gallows with his head held high. He did not look ashamed.

The town clerk, a nervous looking man with a lopsided wig, stepped up and cleared his throat.

“O-Oberyn Martell, be it known that y-you have been charged, tried and found guilty for your wilful commission of crimes against the crown,” The man stuttered, his hands shaking. He cast a wary look at the pirate, who met his gaze and winked.

“That’s Oberyn Martell!” Myrcella gasped. “Captain of the Red Viper! My uncle told me stories about him. His reputation is fearsome, they've been chasing him for years! How on earth did they manage to catch him?”

“Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature,” the clerk continued, “the most egregious of these to be cited herewith... piracy, smuggling, impersonating an officer of the British Royal Navy, impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England-”

Oberyn Martell grinned. “Ah, yes.”

She stared at the pirate in wonder, seeing him in an entirely new light. How had she not known him at once? She’d studied drawings of him all her life. There was he, _the_ Oberyn Martell, Captain of the infamous Red Viper, in the flesh. A real pirate before her very eyes, one she had been hearing stories about since she was a little girl. And they were going to hang him. 

“-sailing under false colours, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness, and for these crimes, you have been sentenced to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul.”

“This is wrong,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can – I’m sorry, Shireen but I can’t watch -"

Shireen glanced at her and frowned, "Why? What’s wrong?"

“Because that’s Oberyn Martell! Captain of the Red Viper!  His story shouldn’t end like this.”

And as if he had heard her, Oberyn Martell looked at her and smiled.

“You harbor pity for pirates, child?” An unfamiliar voice asked. She looked over her shoulder and saw a woman leaning against one of the stone pillars, grinning a devious smile. She was dressed in fine silks of deep orange and gold, with sharp, watchful eyes and thick black hair that fell in curls to her exposed midriff. She was no beauty, not in the traditional sense, but something about her drew the eye. She was like no one Myrcella had ever see before. One of the woman’s dark eyebrows arched. “Cat caught your tongue? What's your name, child?”

“Myrcella. Myrcella Baratheon.”

“ _Myrcella.”_ The woman drew out each syllable of her name, making it sound musical. “What a pretty name.”

She and Shireen exchanged a disconcerted glance when the woman stalked closer. The woman smiled at her, her eyes impossibly dark as she reached out and lifted Myrcella’s chin. “Tell me, what is a pretty girl like you doing feeling sorry for pirates?”

The sound of drums rolling startled her; she jerked away from the woman’s touch and looked back at the gallows. The executioner was fastening the rope around the pirate’s neck. A priest was reading him his last rites.

And then, above the noise of the crowd, she heard it –

 _“Yo, Ho haul together, hoist the colours high.”_ A soft, haunting voice sung. The voice floated over the crowd and a silence swiftly fell upon it. Everyone turned, looking around them, searching for whoever it was amongst them who was singing _. “Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die. The King and his men stole the queen from her bed and bound her in her bones. The seas be ours and by the powers, where we will... we'll roam.”_

The sound stopped as quickly as it had begun, sending a chill running down her spine. Shireen glanced at her, and then paused, her eyes widening. She felt the woman’s hand brush down her arm and then, with a vicelike grip, she wrapped her long fingers around Myrcella’s wrist. The woman’s breath tickled the back of her neck before she lifted her arm and pressed a pistol to her temple.

Shireen opened her mouth and screamed.

The sky above them was dark and there was a sound like thunder, rolling in off of the sea.

 _“Canonfire!”_ She thought she heard someone cry.

“Hang him and she dies!” The woman yelled, forcing the barrel of the gun against her temple. Myrcella struggled, ramming her elbow into the woman’s ribs. The woman cut her eyes at her and smiled. “No sudden movements, princess. Killing you would be such a waste.” Myrcella’s gaze flashed upwards and she locked eyes with Admiral Selmy. The man stepped down from his post, drawing his cutlass.

Screams of panic erupted from the crowd, and then, with a resounding bang, a pistol was fired into the air.

“The next shot will be in her head! Lower your weapons!” The woman yelled, dragging Myrcella with her as she forced her way through the crowd. A bolt of lightning crackled through the sky and the first drops of rain started to fall. She could only watch in disbelief as Barristan Selmy, her father’s friend and Admiral of the British Royal Navy, ordered his men to lower their weapons.

The hangman took a slow, cautious step towards the pirate and released the noose. Oberyn Martell gave the man a funny sort of bow, with his hands still shackled behind his back. “Most obliged, sir.” She thought she heard him say.

And then, from amidst the crowd, half a dozen men stepped forward and drew their swords.

“You will not follow us!” One of the men yelled, waving his broadsword in the air. A woman near him shrank back, crying out in fear. “You will allow us to leave with our Captain and be on our merry way. No one has to get hurt. No one’s got to die today.”

As the woman dragged her towards the battlements, she caught sight of Shireen working her way through the crowd after her. _Stop,_ she wanted to yell. _Stay back, be safe._ If anything happened to Shireen, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. They were only here in this mess because of her, because of her stupid, naïve, ill-advised fascination with pirates. The irony was cruel; all she’d ever wanted was to meet a pirate from one of her stories, and look where that had gotten her.

“This is totally ridiculous! This isn’t going to work!” She snapped, more angry than afraid. “They're never going to let you escape. And you're not going to kill me either. Kill me and you're as good as dead.”

But the woman just smiled.

“You've got spirit. I like that.”

They were stood at the very edge of the battlements now. She could hear the roar of the sea, the waves battering hard against the rocks below. There was a ship in the harbor, one she had never seen before, with blood red sails and a black flag. There were screams coming from the docks and she watched, eyes wide in horror, as the ship blasted canons at the town.

“Ellaria, my love.” Oberyn Martell drawled as he leisurely strolled towards them, hands and ankles still shackled. “Who is your little friend?”

“The governor’s daughter.” The woman - Ellaria - called back to him. The woman released her hold on her and stepped up to meet him. The two embraced with her pistol still pointed at Myrcella’s head. Myrcella took a wary step back and found herself at the very edge of the battlements.

The pirate grinned.

“She will do.” He said before the woman reached out and shoved her hard. Myrcella stumbled and groped uselessly at the thin air before she lost her footing and fell. She was too shocked to scream as she tumbled into the sea below, and was swallowed whole by the depths.

 

* * *

 

 

She heard once that drowning was peaceful. But there was nothing peaceful about this. 

The water was cold. Colder than it should have been. And the angry sea fought over her, the waves battering her around like a rag doll. She fought against the current, trying to reach the surface, but the waves kept dragging her down, dragging her further and further down into the depths of the sea.  She kept her lips forced firmly together, trying to hold onto her breath for as long as she could, holding onto the hope that someone might come to save her. 

But as the seconds tickled by, it was getting harder and harder to fight. Her lungs were burning, desperate for breath.

When she could hold on no more, she gasped and water burned its way down her throat. The world began to darken until she saw only faint pinpricks of light, like little stars. Her thoughts grew less panicked, less focused. They drifted, like the sea. She thought about her brothers, wondered if they were happy, wherever they were. She thought about her mother, and hoped she wouldn’t be angry with her. She thought about the song, the words washing over her as she gave in to the dark.

_Never shall we die…_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dying was difficult.

In the back of her mind, she was dimly aware of something pulling at her. She thought she felt her back hit something and then, becoming more aware, she felt something burning in her chest. Something was hitting her hard, and the more the pounding came, the worse the pain in her chest was. She was almost angry – _let me die already_ , she wanted to yell. _I give up!_

Something touched her lips, forcing air down her lungs. Her throat burned, and the pain woke her up.

She jerked upright, her eyes flashing open as she choked out a great volley of water. She dragged in a sharp, swallow breath, her head whirling, struggling to take in the sudden light. Suddenly she could feel her arms and her toes again and she shivered. She was so cold. 

Something touched her, something warm. She squinted, trying to see past the blinding light. She saw... she wasn’t sure what she saw. A man, perhaps. She tried to lift her hand to rub her eyes, but her arm was weighed down, impossibly heavy.

“Welcome aboard the Red Viper, Miss Baratheon.” A voice called, and at last she made out the shape that loomed over her. 

Oberyn Martell winked at her and she collapsed back against the ground, her eyes rolling shut.

 


	2. Fish in the Sea

 

_Come all you young sailor men, listen to me._

_I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea._

 

The wind was growing fiercer by the minute, the hurricane rolling in off of the sea. Trystane cast a wary eye to the swiftly disappearing horizon and knew they were running short on time. He turned his attention to the sails, which flapped wildly in the wind. They would need to lift anchor soon, lest they wanted to end up on the bottom of the sea.

“There!” Gascoyne yelled, pointing to the battlements of Fort Visenya. Through the rain, he could make out the orange of Ellaria’s gown. Gascoyne glanced at him, his weathered face pinched with unease. “That’s not the Governor.”

“Not unless the Governor wears a pretty blue dress…” he mumbled, eyes following the shape as it tumbled through the air and into the restless sea below. That was his signal. He tore off his gun belt, thrusting his pistol and sword into Gascoyne’s waiting arms. He gave the man a little salute before he climbed onto the side of the ship and dove into the water.

The current was strong, and the water rough. He struggled against it, fighting his way through the waves. The sea water burned his eyes, but he kept them open and fixed on the figure in front of him. The girl in the blue dress was drifting, caught in the current. She looked like something out of Gerris’ stories. A ghost, claimed by the sea.

He hooked his arm around her waist and towed her upwards, his legs kicking wildly as he fought his way to the surface. He gasped for breath as they broke the surface, but the girl remained limp and heavy in his arms. She was turning blue. He heard someone shouting his name and swam towards it. He struggled against the current, trying to get back to the ship. The girl’s lips were blue now… she didn’t have long.

“Trystane! Here!” Gascoyne yelled, throwing the rope ladder over the side of the ship. He grabbed it with his free arm and hauled himself and the girl up, out of the water. It took three men to help him climb up over the side of the ship, and he collapsed against the deck, gasping for breath.

“She ain’t breathing!” Someone yelled, and he sat up with a jolt. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at the girl who lay beside him. She was young. Pretty. Definitely not the Governor. And almost dead.

He dragged himself across the deck and leaned over her. He ripped his dagger from his boot and cut through her bodice, tearing open the strings of her corset. He hoisted her up with one hand and pounded her hard on the back. After a moment, he paused. No reaction. _Shit_.

Groaning, he pushed his hands down on her chest, counting each compression in his head. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to die. He lifted her wrist, feeling the slow, but faint pulse. He pinched her nose shut and slammed his mouth down onto hers, forcing air back into her lungs. He lowered his head, listening for breathing. Nothing. He tried again, forcing her to breathe.

The girl suddenly jerked, jolting upright as she spluttered out a torrent of water.

She felt back onto her elbows, coughing up half the sea onto the deck.

“Captain!” Gascoyne yelled, leaning over the side of the ship to help his uncle aboard. Ellaria followed soon after, pushing her drenched hair away from her face as she helped his uncle find his footing. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing your ugly mug again!” He laughed. “Lemme get those for you, Captain!” Gascoyne said, gesturing to his uncle’s shackles.

“Nephew!” His uncle – his Captain – called. “It’s good to see you! I see you’ve met our new friend?”

The girl squinted, her chest rattling as she gasped for breath. She looked up at his uncle and he smiled down at her. “Welcome aboard the Red Viper, Miss Baratheon.” He said, and she slumped back against the deck, her eyelids falling shut. Ellaria shot his uncle a look, as if to say – _Was that really necessary?_ His uncle merely shrugged and she rolled her eyes.

“Raise the anchor! Hoist the sails! I don’t feeling like dying today!” Ellaria barked, and the sailors scattered. She held out her hand and hauled him to his feet. “Get the girl inside before she freezes to death.”

He tore away what was left of her sodden gown, leaving her in naught by her shift, and scooped her up into his arms, Gascoyne helped him, pushing open the doors to the Captain’s Quarters at the aft of the ship. He laid her out on the bed and layered blankets over the top of her. Gascoyne gave him a quick nod of his head and returned to the main deck, closing the doors behind him.

He looked back at the girl, torn between curiosity and irritation. It had been a good plan – a simple one too. One that shouldn’t have been too hard to fuck up. The Governor was their target. He was the only reason they’d come to this godforsaken place. Miss Baratheon, his uncle had called her. So she was his daughter. That changed things. Whether it was for better or worse, he wasn’t sure yet. Time would tell.

He lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed, supposing it was his job to make sure she didn’t die – or attempt to escape.

She didn’t look much like the Governor. They said the Governor was fat and had grown a great beard to hide all his chins. He’d once been a great bull of a man, a legend. He’d heard once that the man had crushed Rhaegar Targaryen with his warhammer during the takeover of King’s Landing, the same coup d’état which had seen the death of his Aunt Elia and her children.

The girl didn’t look like her father. No, she was a Lannister through and through.

_‘I will spit upon the grave of any Lannister, and I will do so smiling’,_ his uncle was fond of saying. His hunger for Lannister blood was the reason Quentyn had left them, why he had seen his brother only once in two years.

He pushed himself off of the bed and onto his feet. He resigned himself to pacing the width of the room, waiting for the girl to wake up. They were well out of the harbor now, cutting through the rough waters at a pace the Royal Navy couldn’t match. And as long as they avoided the heart of the hurricane, they would be in the clear.

Time passed slowly, and pacing grew tiresome. He ran a hand down his face and through his wet hair, sighing.

And when – at long last – he heard a quiet, muffled sound coming from the girl, he looked up with a small sigh of relief. She was all twisted up in the blankets, struggling to get free. He took a step towards her, about to help, but decided against it. He rubbed the neck of his neck, begrudging Ellaria for choosing him be the one to deal with this mess.

“W – what?” The girl murmured, her voice hoarse and croaky. She sat up slowly, coughing.

“Hello.” He tried lamely. He really was not in the mood to deal with panic and screaming. If it came to it, he’d call for the cook and have him force some rum down her throat. That always helped to calm people down. Eventually. “I’d lie still if I were you. You need your rest.”

The girl fixed him with wide eyes.

“Who… who are you?” She asked slowly, clutching her throat.

 He bowed at the waist. “Trystane Martell, at your service.”

The girl’s eyes flickered away from him, to the door. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind, but even so, he was shamefully unprepared when she suddenly moved. The girl ripped the blankets off of herself and tossed them at him. One of the quilts hit him in the face and as he flailed uselessly, trying to get it off of him, the girl bolted. He threw the heavy blankets onto the floor and the girl froze, half-way between him and the door.

“I wouldn’t bother,” he said, holding out his hands. “The door’s locked. Locked it myself.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed.

“Liar.” She spat before she turned and threw herself at the door. She fumbled with the handle while he hurried after her, slipping through the doors just as his fingers seized hold of the back of her dress. The shift ripped and she stumbled, escaping his grasp. He stared after her as she ran across the deck in nothing but a thin white shift.

She almost made it. She reached the port side of the ship, looking ready to through herself back into the water, when one of the deckhand’s caught her. He grabbed hold of her around the middle and dragged her back, away from the side of the ship. The girl struggled, throwing her arm back and catching him on the nose with her elbow. The deckhand swore, he stumbled away from her as blood started to stream down his face. She spun away from him then and snatched his pistol from his gun belt.

From above, at the helm of the ship, his uncle clapped his hands.

“Well, well, well.” He called down to them. “Ellaria was right. You have spirit, child.”

“What do you want?” The girl yelled back.

“What do I want? Nothing.” His uncle said, and then he smiled. “Everything.”

She jerked the pistol up into the air and pointed it as his uncle.  

Trystane edged forwards slowly, keeping a wary eye on the girl. 

"Don't be pointing that thing at me unless you intend to use it." His uncle said, calling the girl's bluff. She hesitated, her finger twitching away from the trigger. "We don't want to hurt you, Miss Baratheon. You are just a means to an end. You help us, and we'll let you go. Safe and sound."

"How?" She asked, the strength of her voice faltering. "What do you want from me?"

"We will talk soon. Now please, put down the pistol. You and I both know you don't have the stomach to use it." When her hand began to shake and her arm slowly started to drop, Trystane crossed the distance between them and snatched the gun from her. Tossing the pistol away, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her after him as he stalked back into the captain's quarters, drenched again by the heavy, persistent rain. He pushed the girl into the room and slammed the doors closed. 

"Get away from me," She spat as she wrenched herself free from his grasp. She was shivering again, more violently than before. Going back into the rain hadn't helped. With a sigh, he stepped around her and went to pick up the blankets she had thrown at him.  She watched him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You'll catch your death if you don't watch it." He told her, balling the blankets up in his arms. "Take off those wet clothes. I’ll find you something else to wear." He handed her one of the knitted quilts and set the rest of the blankets back down on the bed. "I won’t look." He said, making a point of covering his eyes with his hand. He turned, nearly bumping into the table as he felt his way across the room. He went to Ellaria's chest of draws, knowing she had some of Tyene's old garments tucked away somewhere.

He peered down at the contents of the draw through the gaps between his fingers. He drew out a pair of white breeches and a tunic. It wasn't what a proper little lady was accustomed to, he imagined, but for now it would do. "I'm going to turn around now." He called out, but waited until she muttered something in response before he moved. He turned slowly, his hand still held up against his face. The wooden floorboards creaked quietly as the girl took a hesitant step toward him. She tugged the clothes from his hands and he turned to face the wall again.

"Thank you." She muttered, so quietly he thought he imagined it.

After a moment, he heard her sigh. “You can turn around now.”

He smirked as he turned.

“As you wish.”

To say it was an improvement would be an understatement. And though she still looked like a half-drowned rat, at least she didn’t look like she was on death’s door. The breeches, he couldn’t help but notice, fitted quite well. He indulged himself for a moment, enjoying the view.

“You ought to get some rest.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. They were green, he noticed.

“You must be exhausted.” He continued, but she remained where she was. “Fine.” He relented. “Sleep, don’t sleep. See if I care. Just do me a favour – don’t bother trying to escape. I really don’t feel like having to jump in and save you for a second time today.”

With a sigh, the girl reluctantly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. She watched him guardedly and he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable under her watchful gaze. “What’s your name?” He asked her, feeling the need to fill the silence.

“What’s it to you?” She answered.

“Basic courtesy, is all. Here I was thinking you proper little ladies were all about your ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’. Seems I was mistaken.” The corner of his lip twitched into a smile at the sight of her nonplussed expression. “You know my name, it’s only fair that I know yours.”

“You will address me as Miss Baratheon or you will not address me at all.” She retorted, lifting her chin ever so slightly as she spoke. Ah yes, he could see the proper little lady in her now. It was in that inbred sense of superiority, he saw it as clear as day. They all liked to think they were better than everyone else, that they were so high above the little folk, as if they didn’t bleed and piss and shit just like everyone else.

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know who my grandfather is, don’t you?”

“I think you’d be hard pressed to find a man alive who doesn’t know who your grandfather is, Miss Baratheon.” He replied with a wry smile. Lord Tywin Lannister, Admiral of the British Royal Navy and close friend of the King. The man responsible for the slaughter of his Aunt and her children. The man who had betrayed the Targaryens and allowed King’s Landing to be taken in the coup.

“He’d rather I die than do a deal with _pirates_.” She spat and she wasn’t wrong. The Navy chased free men all across the Seven Seas, hanging any caught alive. Times were changing. The world, it seemed, was growing smaller. The blank spaces on the maps were being filled and the creatures of myth and legend were being hunted. When he gave no answer, the girl sighed. “Where are you taking me?”

“The island of Norvos, my good lady. Now, if you’ll excuse.” He said, taking his leave of her. The girl’s eyes followed him as he stalked across the room to the door. When he locked the door behind him, he heard the girl sigh heavily and he walked across the deck of the ship, grinning.

 


End file.
